Heart's a Mess
by jelenamichel
Summary: Post-Double Blind. He has been so desperate to connect with her that when the opportunity presented itself, he took hold of it with both hands. Now he thinks he should have held back and waited. But what kind of man would that have made him? She needed him, and so he was there. It's what he did. For love. For her.


**A/N: I haven't checked, but I'm willing to bet there are dozens of angsty post-Double Blind fics on this site right now. Here's another one. Enjoy? Sort of? Maybe? Oh, Ziva.  
Warning for two swears.  
(Further apologies to my Twitter followers who were subjected to some, uh, colorful language following my viewing of that episode.)**

* * *

It's not how he thought it would go down.

His heart has been beaten enough times that he accepts the pursuit of love is not without its dangers. And when he accepted that _she_ was the one he wanted to pursue, he understood that doing so would see his ass kicked and heart bruised a hundred times before they got it right. But still, he didn't think that she'd be able to make him feel this bad.

It's just not how he thought it would go down.

The circumstances that brought them to the brink of a functional relationship were not ideal, but he was prepared to overlook it. He has wanted her for so long. Wanted her to let him in. He has been so desperate to connect and fill the void within him that when the opportunity presented itself, he took hold of it with both hands. Now he thinks he should have held back and waited. But what kind of man would that have made him? She needed him, and so he was there. It's what he did. For love. For her.

He needs to learn to look before he leaps.

He has displayed at least some measure of good judgment tonight, though. With his boss in prison and his…partner…having confirmed her betrayal, the first thing he thought to do was to go out, get very drunk, and take home a random blonde for revenge sex. Except that the thought didn't sound as good the longer he thought about it, until eventually it held no appeal at all. He doesn't want revenge. He doesn't want to forget his problems. He wants to do the mature thing: accept them and find a resolution. He just isn't sure which problem will be harder to face.

Perhaps he will work on that tomorrow.

The knock on his door just before 2300 is not welcome. Nor is the stabbing pain he suddenly feels in his heart. He's in no mood to talk to her or listen to her. He wants to use this time to be alone, be angry, be hurt. He doesn't want to swallow it and move on. He wants to wallow, if even for a night. He _wants to be alone_.

She knocks again and he feels a flash of anger at the intrusion. This is his sanctuary. He offered it to her when she was in need, and perhaps his intention was to open it up to her for good. But not now. The presumption of invitation that would have warmed him last week now grates on his last nerve. She knocks one more time and he feels his face pinch with ire. He jumps to his feet, and although his first stride to the door is made in anger, his last is far more measured. He doesn't want to yell. He doesn't want to make it worse. It's already so bad, and although he can cope with that tonight, sooner or later they'll have to find a resolution. He doesn't want to push it further out of reach.

He stands with his hand on the doorknob as he takes a few deep breaths and finds a cooler head. Then he swings the door open to meet his…partner's…drawn face. She looks like crap, and his fallible, human heart allows him a moment of enjoyment. It is quickly followed by shame, but not quite enough.

Ziva shifts uncomfortably and licks her lips. "Tony—"

But that's enough already. Her voice is thick with guilt and he can't bear it. He holds up a hand to stop her before she suffocates him. "Ziva, if you need me right now as a shoulder to cry on over this whole mess with Gibbs, I'm here." He will always be there, no matter what stupid thing she does. "But if you came to talk about what you did in Israel?" His throat closes and he buys time shaking his head. "I can't do it. Not now. I need to be angry with you right now."

Guilt twists the beauty from her face. "I need to explain."

He knows she does. But for _her_ benefit. Not his. And he can't find the resolve to help her feel better about herself tonight. "I really don't want to hear it."

She fights him, because it is all she knows how to do. "But in this post-elevator world, I owe you an explanation. And apology." She steps forward, no doubt expecting that he will let her in. But he stands his ground. He doesn't want to smell her on his couch after she leaves. She looks hurt by the rejection, and he feels a twinge of guilt that it will not be the last one she will receive from him.

"Not tonight, okay?"

"Yes, tonight." Her stubbornness can be a blessing and a curse. Tonight, it is the latter.

"I don't want to do this now," he tells her, injecting a harder edge into his tone.

She crosses her arms over her chest. On Ziva, this is not a defensive gesture. It is insecurity. "It is important that we sort this out," she says. "Don't you agree?"

Her attempt to assign responsibility for the mess to him succeeds only in raising his hackles and removing his calm filter. He finds himself cutting to the chase.

"Okay, look. I know that there is no _this_…" he pauses and gestures between them, making his intent clear. "But _this_ isn't going to work."

The look on her face is a knife straight to his heart, and his skin prickles with the urge to take it straight back. Or at least to soften it. But she is talking before he has the chance.

"Tony, what I did wasn't about you, or how I feel about you."

"Yeah, I get it," he says thickly. It's the truth, even if he can't meet her eyes when he says it. "I understand that need for physical comfort. And I understand _you_ and your motivation, believe it or not. But I can't live with it, or be in a relationship with it."

Her eyes widen, and he knows he's caught her off guard. They haven't used the 'R' word before, and perhaps it's time that they did. Refusing to put labels on their state of affairs might allow for some wiggle room in some situations—particularly those related to Gibbs and their employment—but it's also creating room for critical misunderstandings. And hurt. It's just a shame that he's using the 'R' word at the _end_ of the affair. He thinks it deserved at least a year in their shared vocabulary.

"No, Tony…" She has recovered well enough to begin to panic over what he's saying, and it looks like she doesn't like it. "You can't say these things right after you say you don't want to hear what I have to say."

He can almost hear the crux of her point verbalized. _It's not fair._ From where he's standing _none of this_ seems fair. But it's reality. Crappy, gut-kicking reality. And he's not ready for more. "I don't—"

"Please," she cuts in. "Please, Tony."

He makes the mistake of meeting her eyes. He has always thought that being able to read her so well is a gift. It saves time in the field, reassures him everywhere else, and gives him stupid little tingles when he stops to think that they have their own language. But now he hates it. Because he knows that she's pleading to be heard, and he knows that doesn't come easy for her. He knows that coming here and facing him forced her to do things she normally doesn't—swallow her pride, admit that she is wrong, and share her thoughts and feelings. He doesn't excel at any of those things himself, and so when he meets her eyes he feels empathy. He knows this is harder for her than it is for him. He makes a huge effort to be the bigger person.

He draws a deep breath, closes his eyes for a moment, and tries to brace himself for the emotional bomb that he expects will shatter him at any moment. "Okay," he says wearily. "What do you want to say?"

She makes the mistake of reaching out to touch him, but he pulls back from her on instinct. Touch between the two of them has always been a rare and precious thing that draws them together. As far as he is concerned, it's not welcome tonight. Ziva gets the hint and quickly and awkwardly drops her hands to her sides. She swallows and her face flashes with shame before she barely manages to collect herself.

"What I did with Adam, it was just sex." He hates how steady her voice is, but he expects nothing less from her. "It was a distraction from grief. I did not want to _talk_ to anyone about how I was feeling because I already felt on the brink of drowning. Adam…he just gave me a break from it."

As far as explanations go, it's not earth shattering. In fact, it's textbook. And he's fleetingly disappointed that someone as complex as her can't offer up anything more interesting than that. He waits for her to add a twist that will get his attention, but she seems to have stalled with her eyes set on his chest at her eye level. He heaves an irritated sigh.

"Yeah, I get that," he tells her, like he's sure he's already told her. "But that doesn't change things between us. Our biggest problem, Ziva, has always been that we don't talk about things. But we've been trying hard this year to change that, right? I thought we were getting pretty good at it."

She latches on to what sounds like a life raft, and nods quickly as she lifts her eyes again. The hope he sees there makes his chest hurt. "Yes," she agrees.

"But you didn't want to talk," he points out.

He eyes drift away again. "Just not about that."

It's an effort not to roll his eyes. "Right. Just not about the most significant thing to happen in your life for a while. You didn't want me for that."

Slender fingers lift to massage her forehead, and he imagines her trying to physically move her thoughts into the right order. "I want you to—"

"What?" He can't help cutting in, because he knows he'll just find more disappointment in what she says. And because he's getting into this talking thing now, and he's finding it hard to contain his anger. "You want me to be there on your terms, only when you decide you need me, and then you want me to just swallow it when you feel you need to look elsewhere for some other kind of support?"

He hits a nerve, and she throws her hands up as she fires up. "So you think I should have come here and said, _'Tony, I don't want to talk right now. We will do that later. Right now I just need to fuck.'_ Since when has our _relationship_ worked like that?"

"It doesn't," he hits back, and he feels his face grow hot again. "But you could have come here and told me you didn't want to talk and I still would have been here for you. I still would have gotten you through it. I wouldn't have _fucked you_ through your grief, but I would have given you a break from it. I would have gotten you through it."

She blows out a harsh breath as tears gather in the corners of her eyes. She grits her teeth. "You weren't there."

"In Israel? No, I wasn't. But I have a telephone. And in case you haven't noticed it over the last eight years, I'm _really good_ at talking about _nothing_ for hours on end."

She crosses her arms over her chest again, and he knows this means she's not ready to accept full responsibility yet. "You said you understood," she reminds him.

"I do!" he insists, as his fists grip the air between them and give it a shake. "But I don't _like it _and I don't _accept it_. I'm not okay with it."

Her arms untangle again and brush against him as she throws them out to her sides. "But it did not mean anything to me, Tony!" He is surprised when she does not stamp her foot. "I do not have feelings for him. It was a moment of weakness to forget my grief. That is all."

He wants to bang his head against the wall. She's not listening to him. "I know that, Ziva," he says deliberately. "I believe you."

"So why—"

"Because it's not about the sex!" he almost yells. They both shut their mouths quickly and look up and down the hall. When a few seconds pass without any of his neighbors sticking their heads into the hallway, he continues with a little more control. Not much, but a little. "I told you, Ziva, right before you got on the plane. _Literally_ right before you got on the plane, that you were not alone. I made a point of using your first language so there would be no room for misunderstanding. I told you that you weren't alone." He pauses as his throat gets tighter and he feels his voice get weaker. He doesn't want to be the one who breaks. He doesn't want to give her that. So he waits until he's sure he won't. "When I tell you that to your face, and I show you that in everything that I do, and you still don't seem to get it? Or don't _want_ to get it?" He shrugs to make his point. "I don't know what else there is for me to do. I'm at a loss."

He waits for her to say something. He wants her to tell him that she _does_ get it, and that she loves it. He expects her to say something that he won't agree with. But all she does is stare at him like this is the first time any of this has occurred to her and she can't quite wrap her head around it. That alone makes him want to end the conversation now and leave it until she's gone away and thought really, _really_ hard about the state of their relationship. But now that he's started talking, he's got so much he needs to say.

"I get why you slept with Adam," he repeats. "I'm not okay with it by a long shot, but I get it and I can get over it. What I can't get over is you telling me that you felt alone. And I can't get over that you didn't call me when you started feeling that way. I can't get over the fact that you still don't seem to trust me."

She finds her broken voice. "I trust you more than anyone," she tells him, and her tone certainly suggests that she means it. But he has evidence to the contrary.

"Except Gibbs and Vance. And McGee." Her little revenge posse. "And Schmiel. And Adam. All people who you went to over me in just the last few weeks."

Her chin lifts, and he knows that she believes whatever it is she's about to say. "I was protecting you, Tony."

He knows that. But it makes him crazy. "I don't need your protection!" he argues, and he can hear his voice rising again but he's past caring about the noise complaints. "I am your partner—and I don't just mean at work. Let me be _very_ clear about that." He pauses while that sinks in for both of them. He's overstepped the admittedly scuffed line he set for himself, but it's out there now and he can't take it back. He forges on. "I'm your partner, and unless you are preparing a surprise party for my birthday, I should be the one you come to first. I thought we both understood that. But clearly my thoughts about the place we were in differ from yours."

"Maybe they do," she agrees. "Because although I _want you_ to be my partner—and let me be very clear that I do not just mean at work—I did not think that we were there yet. I felt we were closer to it. Much closer. But not there. We had not talked about it. The closest we came was last week right before the car accident."

His heart pounds at her admission (for all the good that does now), but he focuses on the car accident. He'd reached over and held her hand—and God, just the memory of that moment now slices him open—and she'd turned in her seat to look at him. She had said his name to get his attention, and there was something in her tone that had made a tingle—a good one—run down his spine. And then…_SMASH!_

"You were going to tell me something."

Her head barely cocks to the side as she tries to follow what feels like a tangent. "What?"

"Right before Bodnar hit us, you turned to me and you were about to tell me something."

She stares at him for a moment, and he wonders if she really doesn't remember or if she's just pretending. But slowly, she begins to nod. "Yes," she says, as if the memory is just returning to her. "Yes, I was."

"What were you going to say?"

The tears are back in the corners of her eyes, and he wonders if she's longing to go back to the moment before everything started going to hell. He knows he is.

"I was going to thank you for always being there for me," she says thickly. "And I was going to ask you to come in when you dropped me home."

"Why?"

She meets his eyes dead on so that he can read her honesty. "Because I wanted to talk about changing things."

They stare at each other for a few long moments. He's stuck on what could have been if their lives were different. Even just a little bit different. If they were even five per cent more open and honest with each other, would they even be here now? Or would they have made it through all the hard stuff years ago before he gave her one of those diamonds to wear forever?

Tears burn the back of his eyes, but he covers them by laughing bitterly. "Well. It's a shame that never happened."

Her head falls to the side and she regards him with an aching look that he can't bear right now. "I still want things to change."

"Oh, they've changed."

She frowns hard at his attitude. "Not like this," she argues.

He shrugs again and pushes himself off the doorframe. "Well, I can't talk about that," he tells her. "I'm not done being angry with you."

She sighs so heavily that her chin falls to her chest. "I understand."

This is his cue to walk back inside and close the door. She's said her piece, he's said his, and there is no resolution to be had tonight. He has no interest in crying in front of her, or in seeing her break in front of him. Truth be told, he feels guilty right now for not focusing on Gibbs and how the hell they're going to keep him out of prison for the rest of his life. But as he studies her dropped shoulders and aching expression, he can't let it go just yet. He's still hurt and angry and confused, and so he has a couple more last words to share. This is his lifelong curse.

He reaches out to brace his hand against the other side of the doorframe, and barely leans closer to her. "When do you think it'll happen, Ziva?"

Her eyes flit over his face, but she can't find the answer she is expecting to be there. "What?"

"When do you think you'll start believing me when I tell you that I am here for you, for anything, at any time, no matter what?"

She sniffs back tears that he knows she's fighting hard. "I do believe you," she tells him tiredly.

He gives her the benefit of his doubt and rephrases the question. "Okay, then when do you think you might start respecting that? Or when do you think you might start respecting yourself enough to let yourself accept it and rely on it?"

He watches her eyes widen and her head slowly draw back from him. He's taken her by surprise, and he presses his advantage.

He sways even closer and drops his voice. "I know you, Ziva," he tells her, and he feels the truth in this to his core. "I know what you think of yourself. I know your habits, and I could make a pretty good guess at the horrible things that you berate yourself with every night."

She swallows hard as his words hit her dead on, and she watches him with a heavy trepidation. He hesitates at the look, because he's not sure that she's ready to hear what he has to say. Hell, he's not sure he's ready to put voice to what he's been thinking for years. He has never really been completely sure that he is right, until now. Now he's convinced he has her pegged. He just hates what he knows. But he tells himself that airing it will help them both.

He takes a shallow breath and prepares to get tough with her. "Ziva, I don't want to continue to be the thing that you punish yourself with. I don't want you to make me the prize that you'll let yourself have only when you've reached whatever impossible standard you've set for yourself. I don't want to be the thing that you deny yourself in punishment for being scared. Because it _hurts me_."

Her face crumbles like someone has cut the strings holding it up, and her tears are confirmation that he's been right all along. This gives him no pleasure. As hurt and angry as she has made him, he doesn't want to drag her down and pull her apart. He just wants her to stop making bad choices, and stop filling her head with all the crap that she thinks gives her license to act like she's all alone in the world. Because _she's not_.

The urge to reach over and hug her is strong, so he grips the doorframe harder to stop himself from moving. "We're all scared, Ziva," he tells her plainly. "Of screwing up and letting people down and not living up to the potential we think we should have. We all do incredibly stupid things to cover up our fears or to create some excuse for not doing the things that scare us. It's not some dirty little secret that only you keep. You've got to get that through your head. And you've got to stop punishing yourself. And me."

Her hand shakes as she raises it to wipe her cheek. She nods for him, and although he knows that this is her at a low, she meets his eyes and lets him see all the guilt, hurt, pain and regret within her. It's a step forward. One that he appreciates. One that weakens his voice as he tells her what he was determined to withhold from her just ten minutes ago.

"I need you to get over whatever fear you have of me," he tells her as his heart races. "Because I'm never going to do anything to you except love you. You shouldn't fear that."

"I know." It's a whisper, but he hears her. "I fear, though, that you won't now."

Won't love her? He was ready to walk away, even though he knows it's not something he can make a conscious decision to leave behind. He has tried in the past, more than once. But his head doesn't really have a say in it.

He drops his eyes and breathes through his hurt to give her the truth. "I will," he tells her shoes. "I do. But I just need to be angry and hurt for a little bit."

He feels her relief. "Okay."

He lifts his eyes again and goes tough again. "When you're ready, I need you to start showing me that you believe me when I say I'm here." She nods quickly, but he's not done. "I need you to show me that you have my back in the same way I have yours. That you trust me. That I'm your first port of call. And that you won't use me to punish yourself."

Shame touches her face again, but she does not argue his point. "Okay."

He tries to read her, but he doesn't trust his instincts. "Do you think you can do all that, Ziva?"

The look she gives him goes someway towards melting him. "For you? Yes."

He's never wanted to believe her more. But he is wary, and so he accepts her words with caution. And he makes clear to her what is at stake. "I am still waiting. For you. But I won't wait forever."

He never thought he'd say that to her. He never thought he would mean it.

"I know," she says, and the resignation in her tone makes him feel a little sick. He's not sure that she will be able to hold up her end of the bargain.

He pulls himself to his full height and lets out another heavy sigh. "Okay. I'm going to go inside now and drink some beer and let myself be angry for a bit."

"Don't go overboard," she warns him, but gently. She knows she isn't entitled to chide him properly right now.

"It's a school night," he tells her. "I'm not drinking for a hangover." He steps back into his apartment and starts to close the door, but she calls out to him in a small voice that doesn't suit her.

"Tony?"

He peeks his head around the door again, not bothering to wipe his wariness from his face. Ziva swallows and shuffles a bit before taking a shaky breath and meeting his gaze.

"Thank you."

It's not what she was going to say, but he doesn't want to hear the alternative right now. It wouldn't be fair. He doesn't want to remember this as the moment that she said it, and he thinks she must have read it in his eyes. Love has much to do with what they have both said tonight, but both of their hearts are a mess. Declarations won't set things right. They'll only add to the chaos. And so he accepts her gratitude with a nod and a weak smile, and then closes the door to his sanctuary.

Maybe one day they will both say the words to each other and it will finally set them on the path to forever.

But this is not how he wants it to go down.

* * *

**Just my thoughts on the situation and Ziva's motivations. Your views may vary, and that's totally fine. Variety is the spice of life, right? But if you are going to share your particular variety of spice with me, please refrain from throwing it in my eyes. Thank you.**


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